


a fortune for your disaster

by rivernyx



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Human Experimentation, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivernyx/pseuds/rivernyx
Summary: Taekwoon knew a lot of things. He knew he was kind of cold, kind of scary, kind of impulsive. He also knew that he should have called the police the moment he'd found that strange boy instead of taking him home. He also knew that he shouldn't have gotten so attached to aforementioned strange boy.





	1. Chapter 1

 An empty hallway. White-tiled floors. Matching whitewashed walls and uniform oak doors with a golden plaque.

 There’s a sound: the clicking of shoes against tiles. There’s a tall man walking across the corridor, back straight, an arm clutching a notepad tightly to his chest, lab coat waving with his every step. His movements are sharp, lithe, and the air about him just screams authority.

 At the end of the hallway he stops, sensing something has gone wrong.

 The lights go off.

 Sirens blare.

 The white is replaced by flashes of angry red, urgent and demanding.

 “Oh,” he says to himself.

 So today is the day.

 

 In another part of the same building, several guards are scurrying about, shoulders tensed, body stiff, alert. There’s a crash, and they run.

 The source of the commotion turns out to be a wall crumbling down, dust billowing into something resembling smoke. The guards have their guns at the ready, waiting for it to clear.

 In the middle of it all stands a lanky figure.

 Head down, shoulders limp at his sides, cuffs clinging to his raw, red wrists. His hair’s a shock of white, like the stripes of his shirt. He turns his head, looking at the guards with burning desperation in his bloodshot eyes. He finally swivels around fully, walking to the guards like his body’s way too heavy with all this exhaustion.

 “If you know what’s good for you,” the captain says, trying to stop the shaking in his grip around his gun, “You’d surrender. Now. We don’t want to do this.”

 The escapee just grins. And the guards— shoot.

 Sparks fly, literally.

 A scream.

 There’s dust _everywhere_ —

 It clears, again, and the walls cave and fall into mini mountains of debris and he is—

 Not there.

 “Where is he—!”

 There’s the click-clack of shoes on tiles again. Calm for this situation, far too calm. The captain whips his head in the direction of the sound and blanches, “Doctor—” But the other man holds his index finger up, effectively silencing the captain.

 ‘Doctor’ shakes his head and massages his temples, “Why must Ravi-yah have to make everything so hard,” he sighs, dragging out the last two words. “Your gun, please?”

 With shaky hands, the captain offers his gun.

 ‘Doctor’ takes it and, without hesitation, shoots the man. There’s a resounding bang before he drops to the floor, dead. The gun is dropped beside him soon after.

 “Alright,” says the newcomer, smiling sweetly as he addresses, “We’ll need someone better, more _reliable_ to replace him, won’t we,” the guards swallow and he smiles again, more to himself this time.

 “Someone to look after Hongbinnie,”

 *

 Jung Taekwoon has a very planned-out routine for his everyday life. It’s wake up at six, fight with Jaehwan over who gets to bath first, win, then eat, then take a bath. Then he’d walk to school with Jaehwan, go to his classes, eat lunch, hit the library, go back to classes, then meet up with Jaehwan in the nearby coffee shop before going back to their apartment.

 But today is not very… routinely.

 He wakes up late, goes to class late, has a test he hasn’t studied for therefore resulting in making him miss lunch. He does not do very well on the aforementioned test. He also almost falls asleep during last period, having missed his first two doses of caffeine (a cup in the morning and another at lunch).

 The only thing that goes according to schedule is his usual meet up with Jaehwan, and even _that_ gets a little botched up, because it’s already fifteen minutes past their usual meeting time and Jaehwan isn’t here yet.

 Taekwoon sits in a corner seat of the small coffee shop quietly, blowing on his latte (ah, heavenly latte) before taking a sip. He sets his cup down on the table and flips to the next page of the notebook spread open before him.

 His phone dings. It’s a text from Jaehwan.

  _‘I’ll be there soon, hyung!’_

Taekwoon rolls his eyes. He doesn’t really want to go through the arduous process activity he’d personally dubbed as “Gossip with Jaehwan” today because of another test for the next, plus the fact that he’s very, very tired thank you very much, but he knows that one look at Jaehwan’s large eyes and pouty lips will make him cave.

 True to his word, Jaehwan arrives not even five minutes later, and he may as well be bouncing in excitement as he approaches Taekwoon. He looks physically pained to be keeping in all those juicy (and absolutely unnecessary) information in check.

 “So what is it today,” Taekwoon says, uninterested, his eyes still on his notes. Jaehwan sits down and opens his mouth, and this is where he talking a mile a minute.

 Taekwoon half-listens and half-reviews, humming and nodding at the appropriate times like he always does. Jaehwan doesn’t seem to mind. As long as he can get all this gossip out before he spills it to anyone else.

 “Ah, you have a test to study for?” Jaehwan asks sheepishly, “You could’ve told me.”

 “Then you’d have gone to someone else,” Taekwoon says, “And have your reputation as school-wide confidant ruined.”

“True,” Jaehwan sighs. “Hyung?”

 Taekwoon hums.

 “I kinda can’t go home with you right now,” Jaehwan confesses, “I kinda have a group project I’m stalling for right now and…”

 Taekwoon sighs, “Okay. Go do your thing, or whatever.”

 “I’m sorry hyung,” then he grins a little devilishly, “I know how you hate being alone.”

 Taekwoon scoffs.

 He does not hate being alone. He’s just far too used to Jaehwan’s constant noise.

 So they part ways outside of the coffee shop, Jaehwan screaming exaggerated goodbyes and Taekwoon merely holding up an arm. Once they’re far enough Taekwoon takes out his earbuds and phone. He’s almost home, just outside the apartment, when he sees it.

 Or rather, him.

 Because there’s someone.

 Passed out.

 Outside the apartment building.

 “What the heck,” he thinks, rushing towards the body. He checks for breathing, checks for a pulse, and they’re all fine and accounted for, and this stranger is—

 Sleeping?

 “What the heck,” he thinks again. Who sleeps at the side of the road?

 He sighs and looks around. Should he just _leave_ him there?

 But no, he couldn’t do that. What if the stranger _dies_ , would it be his fault?

 Should he call the polics? The ambulance?

 

 He kind of doesn’t know why, or how, but he ends up dropping to the floor, exhausted, after tossing the stranger onto his bed. He doesn’t call anyone.


	2. Chapter 2

 Han Sanghyuk, young, fairly skilled, fairly new police officer is drinking bad coffee in the station when he hears it.

 "Someone's looking for a new guard," a higher ranked officer says. He's a large man: tall and wide and kind of intimidating, with the makings of a goatee sketched around his mouth. He's talking to another officer, this time shorter and thicker, with  his undershirt slightly visible underneath his uniform.

 The pudgier guard nods, "Yeah. It-" then he sees Sanghyuk and grins amiably, "Oh hey, rookie."

 "Hello," Sanghyuk nods, his smile polite but his eyes curious, "What's this talk of a new opening?"

 "Like I said," says the first officer, "Someone needs a security guard. He's gonna pay big money for it."

 "Will it get me out of this old place?"

 The first officer sighs, "Yeah. But kid-"

 "I'm taking it," Sanghyuk decides. This place is stale and dreary and _boring_ , and he'd do anything to get away.

 The second policeman frowns, "See, kid, it's not really recommended. The person who put in the request was kind of shady."

 "Doesn't matter," Sanghyuk waves his hand, "And who knows, maybe I might uncover some sort of controversy or something."

 The other two share a Look.

 

 "You want to work here, hm?" the man across the desk smirks, tapping his nails- long and elegantly polished, just like himself, really- on the mahogany surface, "And why should I take you?"

 Sanghyuk swallows, feeling strangely nervous all of a sudden. Something about this man just demands respect, bleeds power. Fiddling with his fingers, he says. "I'm trustworthy, I don't get scared easily-"

 The man cuts him off, "And are you good at what you do?"

 Sanghyuk nods three times, sharp and fast.

 "Do you promise to stay loyal to me and be wholeheartedly dedicate to your job?"

 Sanghyuk hesitates for a moment. The two other officers were right. The man _is_ shady.

 "Are you having second thoughts, Sanghyukkie?" the man leans forward, wearing the same smirk.

 This is dangerous, Sanghyuk realizes. Suspicious and risky and _very_ dangerous, but something about it just begs for his attention, brings out his curiosity.

 "Of course not, sir," he says, with a habitual salute, "I promise."

 "Swear on it?"

 Sanghyuk nods.

 "Perfect," the man brushes his bangs aside, eyes and teeth glinting under the pale lighting, "That's all I need. You're in."

*

 "Taekwoon-hyung," Jaehwan whispers, as if speaking any louder would condemn him to an eternity of damnation,  " Taekwoon-hyung. Taek! Woon!"

 He shakes his roommate slightly, trying to wake him up, "Taekwoonie!"

 Taekwoon doesn't budge. Jaehwan signs, groans, then stands, looking between his passed-out roommate and the passed-out... somebody... on Taekwoon's bed. Jaehwan lets out someting caught between a cry of confusion and pain and a helpless whine.

 "Hyung," Jaehwan hisses as he sits back down, raising a hand to hit Taekwoon when-

 Suddenly something grabs his wrist. He freaks, tearing his hand away and scrambling as far away from Taekwoon as currently possible.

 Taekwoon groans, drowsy, and glares at Jaehwan past his bangs, "You're noisy,"

 "He lives!" Jaehwan says, "Also, why is there someone on your bed?"

 Taekwoon rubs his eyes, far too tired to completely process what he'd just said. All he knows right now is that Jaehwan is being loud.

 "Again," he scowls, "Noisy."

 "But why-"

 "Why would someone even be on my be-" he stops abruptly.

 Oh. Right. He remembers now.

 "Why-" Jaehwan starts again, but Taekwoon holds a hand up, successfully silencing him.

 "Honestly, I don't even know," he says, "I just. Found him."

 "You didn't even think to call the police?" then Jaehwan adds, aghast, "Or consulting _me_?"

 Taekwoon shrugs. Well, he had, but.

 "There was a guy sleeping at the edge of the road," he points out, "Couldn't exactly just _leave_ him there."

 "Yeah but," Jaehwan protests, studying their new, hopefully temporary, er, companion. His eyebrows are furrowed together in worry, "Did it even occur to you that he might be a serial killer or something?"

 Oh. Well, there _is_ a possibility.

 "You didn't think this through, did you!" Jaehwan cries, "You just helped a potential serial killer, and subsequently doomed everyone in this apartment!"

 Taekwoon tenses, biting his lip, the possible consequences of his poorly thought-out decision catching up to him. He bites his lower lip, "Well he might not be."

 "Look at him, hyung!" Jaehwan shouts, sounding scandalized, as he gestures to the still blissfully unconscious stranger on Taekwoon's bed. Taekwoon's eyes follow what Jaehwan's pointing at: the exposed strip of skin on his stomach and wrists and ankles and neck, painted with scabs and gashes and scars. The skin around his wrists are raw and red, what used to be handcuffs still clinging onto them like broken, ugly bracelets. "He looks like he just escape from jail!"

  _Oh,_ Taekwoon thinks, seeing Jaehwan's point far more clearly now, _Oh fuck_.

 "What do we do with him then?" he asks.

 "Call the police?" the 'duh' in Jaehwan's words doesn't need to be spoken.

 "What if he's an abuse victim?"

 Jaehwan throws his hands up, "Then all the more reason to call the police!"

 Taekwoon looks at the sleeping stranger again, "I don't think we should. Not yet."

 He's kind of intrigued right now. Sue him.

 "So when?"

 "When he wakes up," Taekwoon says.

 "But hyung."

 "Jaehwanie."

 "Then I say we tie him to the bed at least," Jaehwan compromises, "You know, just in case."

 Taekwoon eyes the broken handcuffs, "I don't think he'd like that."

 "Suppose he pounces on us, hm?" Jaehwan says, scavenging the cabinets for handkerchiefs and tossing random articles of clothing all over the room, crying out a victorious "Aha!" when he finds some, "I don't think we'd like that either."

 Taekwoon shifts his weight from one foot to another. Not like he can disagree with that.

 So Jaehwan loops the handkerchiefs around the cuffs before tying them to the bedposts, checking and then double checking how secure they are. Then he pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face.

 Taekwoon fidgets, "Is this okay?"

 "Is killing okay?"

 "We don't even know if he's a killer yet!"

 "But he might be," Jaehwan argues, "It's better than dying anyways. Hey, want some coffee?"

 Taekwoon sighs.

 

 There's a thud.

 Taekwoon slowly puts his coffee down, suddenly kind of scared. He looks at Jaehwan. Jaehwan looks back.

 "You go first," Jaehwan tells him.

 Taekwoon shakes his head adamantly.

 "You brought him here!" his roommate whisper-hisses.

 " _You_ suggested we tie him up!"

 "Well I-"

 There's a pained cry, almost a sob.

 "We should-"

 "Yeah."

 As stealthily as they can manage, they tiptoe towards the bedroom. Jaehwan inhales deeply and holds it, fingers curling around the knob, twisting it open-

 The stranger is still on the bed, thank God, straining against his- surprisingly firm- bonds. He's kind of weak, but he does it deperately enough to be able to break the bed should he keep doing that and-

 "Hyung," Jaehwan says, "I think he's crying."

 Taekwoon breathes a shuddery breath and steps closer. He _is_ crying, he sees, tears rolling down his cheeks and even more forming at the corners of his eyes. Taekwoon experimentally reaches out, before yanking his hand back when the stranger attempts to snap forward and bite him.

 Jaehwa grimaces, "Careful, hyung."

 Taekwoon closes his eyes and thinks. What to do, what to do...

 He opens them and takes a single step forward.

 "Shh," he mumbles in a soft voice, mentally simulating a situation of comforting an angry child, "It's okay. I'll set you free now."

 He isn't the most sociable, he knows, but he's good with children. And children are temperamental and quick to dishearten and hard to deal with. This shouldn't be so hard, right?

 Taekwoon almost sags in relief when he sees the stranger calms down considerably, his struggling dampened to small tremors that shake his frame.

 He starts with the feet, and he gets it over with as fast as he can. The hands are harder to work with, though, as he keeps on jerking away whenever Taekwoon so much as brushes his fingertips over his skin, but he finishes after some time. He quickly moves away, eyes clamped shut, bracing himself-

 Nothing comes.

 "He's afraid," Jaehwan whispers.

 Taekwoon opens his eyes.

 Instead of lunging at Taekwoon and Jaehwan, the stranger has pushed himsef up against the wall, curling in on himself. He glares and he hisses but it doesn't hide the terror in his eyes.

 Taekwoon breathes, straightening up. He doesn't come any closer, just holds offers his hand. The man on the bed glares.

 "Are you hungry?" Taekwoon asks, voice gentle and coaxing, "Or thirsty?"

 He gets bloodshot eyes narrowed at him.

 "You're so thin," he murmurrs, feeling strangely concerned. "I'll go get you something to eat."

 Taekwoon closes the door behind him when he leaves. He boils water and finds a pack of ramyeon in a cabinet, tossing its contents into the pot once the water's hot enough. His coffee is cold now. He grimaces and pours its contents into the sink.

 A few minutes later the noodles are all done. He brings a bowl into the room, along with a bottle of water.

 Jaehwan's sitting on the bed. He looks far less uneasy, and is now talking animatedly to the person cowering against the wall. Taekwoon sighs. Jaehwan can never keep his mouth shut. He'd probably already frightened the poor thing.

 Taekwoon asks, "Would you like to eat?"

 The stranger hesitates then nods, slowly.

 "Okay. Can you do it by yourself?"

 Lip bite. Head shake.

 "Okay," Taekwoon repeats. He sits down next to Jaehwan and catches the noodles with the chopsticks, gingerly reaching out to feed him. Their guest's mouth closes around the noodles before he leans away, chewing.

 Rinse. Repeat.

 "Water?" Jaehwan says, trying to be helpful.

 A nod. Jaehwan passes the bottle to Taekwoon, who offers it to the newcomer.

 He drinks generously.

 "What's your name?"

 He looks down.

 "You're not ready to say it yet?" asks Taekwoon.

 He shrugs, mumbling something incoherent. Jaehwan yelps, "It speaks!" and the stranger flinches, tensing up.

 Taekwoon glares at Jaehwan.

 Jaehwan grins, apologetic.

 Taekwoon sighs, "Don't mind him."

 Another mumble Taekwoon can barely make out. Taekwoon nods at him, coaxing.

 He hesitates for a moment before saying, much louder this time, "Wonsik."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i feel like the pacing + chapter lengths are gonna be so inconsistent  
> also i have so much plans for this fic :))))  
> alsO ARE YOU ALL READY FOR THE COMEBACK TOM & THEN NEXT MONTH HAHAHA YOU CAN HEAR ME & MY WALLET CRYING


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH LORD THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> I hope this is worth the wait shdbdjlad
> 
> Aaah ;_;

 There is a boy— sitting still, head ducked, hands tied behind the chair he’s bound to. A steel band is clasped around his wrist. _Lee Hongbin,_ it says, _Number 001._

He’s all alone in this room, with nothing but white walls surrounding from all sides (one of the walls has a crack, about half a meter long. The boy often stares at it in longing), nothing but an old bed with a hard mattress a speaker, and a CCTV  camera accompanying him, nothing but the smell of medication hanging in the air.

 Strangely, though, this boy isn’t struggling at all. One would expect someone else in his position to flail, thrash, strain against the ropes holding them down, but here he is. He is calm, his hands and feet still, his head limp, and his eyes trained down. He’s almost… resigned.

 He counts in his head. What time must it be, now? Nine thirty-five and seventeen seconds, nine thirty-five and sixteen, nine thirty-five and—

 “Hongbin-ah, we have a visitor~”

 The Doctor’s familiar voice cuts into the thick silence of the room. The boy— Hongbin— doesn’t look up at all. Not when The Doctor knocks on his door, not when The Doctorsays, “We’re coming in, Hongbinnie.” And not when the Doctor, he senses, has brought a stranger.

  No, wait, actually—

 “This,” says the Doctor, “Is Sanghyuk.”

Hongbin eyes him for a moment (Sanghyuk is a tall, broad boy that looks like he’s barely out of school. His hair is styled, swept to the side neatly, and his smile is one of uncertainty. He looks lost and confused and his hands are kind of shaking) before his gaze slides off in disinterest, preferring to look at the wall. He sees— in his peripheral vision— the new person’s (Sanghyuk’s) eyebrows scrunch together. Is he confused as to how a plain, whitewashed wall could be more interesting than him? Is he eyeing Hongbin with curiosity? Or is he just simply annoyed and offended?

 More importantly, though— what is he doing here? Hongbin catches glimpse of a badge on Sanghyuk’s breast pocket. He’s dressed in a uniform, too, and despite his slight anxiety Sanghyuk exhibits some kind of authority in the air around him, no matter how weak it may be. He must be a police officer. But then again, what would a police officer be doing in a place like this?

Hongbin doesn’t know,

 And to be honest, Hongbin doesn’t really care. It’s been a long time since Hongbin’s really cared.

 The Doctor clears his throat.

 “This is Hongbinnie,” says the Doctor— and he says it so sweetly. (Yet there’s the faint hint of what indicates as irritation in his tone, subtle enough for any normal person to overlook. Yet, the thing is, Hongbin is not, by regular human standards, what one would consider a ‘normal person.’) He’s anything but sweet, Hongbin has come to learn. He regrets falling for those warm eyes and that warm smile when he cupped his cheek and said everything was going to be alright, now, don’t worry Bin-ah— “He’s a little… broken but he kept Ravi-yah behaved so we keep him around.”

 He keeps still in his seat, not caring about the Doctor’s subtly thinning temper, not caring about Sanghyuk in the side lines, who is fiddling with his fingers and shifting his weight from one foot to another awkwardly (kind of out of character for a policeman, wouldn’t you agree?)

 “Hongbin,” says the Doctor, clearing his throat and sending Hongbin a thing, tight smile, “Like I said. This here is Sanghyuk. He’ll be looking after you starting now.”

 Now _that_ piques his interest. What had happened to his old guard that had been so bad that he’d needed to be gotten a new one? Someone new, someone fresh, someone who—

Will probably bore him three days into knowing each other.

 Well, not really knowing each other. Not when the conversations will be mostly one sided. Not when Hongbin will do nothing but sit there and stare as this stranger watches over him, tries to get to know him better, tries to communicate with him. Hongbin knows sooner or later Sanghyuk will give up, knows that eventually he’ll stop trying to pry into Hongbin’s thoughts, peel away his discomfort and his insecurities, chip down his walls little by little.

Hongbin sees the Doctor’s fingers curl into a loose fist, and a small flare of pride ignites somewhere deep beneath the cold, numb, darkness of his chest. He likes seeing the Doctor like this, annoyed and losing his patience. It feels like a subtle crack in his graceful, perfect resolve.

Sanghyuk offers him a tight smile, awkward and clumsy.

Hongbin stares.

 The Doctor breathes in sharply, trying to offer his best smile (it’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts) and sliding his glasses up his nose, “Now if you’ll excuse me— I’ll be leaving you two to your own devices,”

And with that, the Doctor smoothes down his lab coat, straightens his posture, and walks out in swift, graceful steps. The door slams shut behind him.

Hongbin can hear Sanghyuk’s breathing— kind of unsteady, kind of scared, kind of unsure. He takes a few steps forward, his shoes clicking against the linoleum of the floor, and he kneels down before Hongbin. Brown eyes meet—

 “Whoa, your eyes,” Sanghyuk says, a little amazed and a little horrified, “They’re— well—”

 It’s always the eyes— Hongbin thinks— that scare them away. It’s always his dead eyes that make them shiver, make them draw away from him and stay by the door, as far away from him as possible. He’s seen what his eyes looked like, and he had been terrified when he did. When was it? Long, long ago, back then when he hadn’t drifted this far into his mind.

 (It’s a vivid memory, one that always stays somewhere in his mind: getting pushed into his little room, facing the floor, seeing his reflection, that his pupils aren’t really pupils anymore but little x’s in the middle of the whites of his eyes.)

 Does he terrify Sanghyuk, he wonders. Is Sanghyuk just like the others?

 “Well,” Sanghyuk coughs, swallows, clears his throat, “I think they look pretty cool, don’t you?”

Hongbin wants to look at him in disbelief, but then—

 All he does is stare.

Another tight smile from Sanghyuk. They look forced, uncomfortable, and if Hongbin was okay he’d have felt uneasy. But Hongbin is not okay. Hongbin is a doll, broken and helpless, torn apart at the seams. There’s no saving him anymore.

 He’s sunken so down, so deep down under the sea of his mind.

Too deep down for anyone to reach him.

~

 Less than a week has passed, yet it feels like a hundred thousand forevers have passed in just the span of a few days. It feels like time is dragging on for even longer now— what with the strain of school and his part time job at the music store and now another mouth to feed— a helpless one at that. Jaehwan has no idea why they’d even decided to keep (what’s his name? Ah, right—) Wonsik around. He never speaks, he doesn’t move so much, he needs to be taken care of. He’s like a child.

 When the weekend comes Jaehwan pumps his fists in celebration. He’s ready to go out and socialize, ready to crash parties and drink until night has faded into morning, ready to play games and dance under the dim fluorescent lights of a fraternity house, swaying along to the music despite his two left feet.

 He’s ready to—

 “You aren’t going anywhere tonight,” Taekwoon tells him simply over the breakfast table, as if talking about the weather. Jaehwan gapes at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

 “But hyung—!” he whines, his lips instinctively curling into a (dare he say it, and proudly at that— an adorable) pout. He can’t not go to a party! Parties are his lifeblood, his heart and his soul, the air in his lungs, the chemicals in his brain! They’re what keep him alive!

 “I know what you’re thinking. You’re being dramatic again,” Taekwoon says, his voice light, his hand reaching forward to bring a steaming cup of coffee to his lips (and damn does he know Jaehwan.) Jaehwan just huffs, the curl of his lips deepening even more, and he sticks out his tongue very maturely, which Taekwoon, in turn, ignores just as maturely, instead choosing to continue, “And we need someone to look over Wonsik.”

 “Why don’t you look after him yourself,” Jaehwan says, his pout becoming less of a pout and more of a mix between a scowl and a frown. He knows Taekwoon wouldn’t mind. He’s fond of Wonsik, and it’s kind of obvious. He’s seen it firsthand: the way Taekwoon dotes over Wonsik; subtly, of course, but it’s there, in the form of quiet offerings of glasses of water. The way he gets protective sometimes. The way he’d tried to coax him back to sleep after a nightmare once, waking both of them up in the middle of the night with shouts and cries and whines. Taekwoon had told Jaehwan to _“Hurry up, Lee, and get some water!”_ and Jaehwan did, panicking, spilling some of the liquid on his shirt. He’d taken it with a hurried "thanks," before offering it to Wonsik, and when their new housemate had simply squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, Taekwoon set the glass on the bedside table and started to sing.

Taekwoon never sings unless he’s forced to, or unless he thinks it alone.

 It’s a Taekwoon thing, Jaehwan has figured. He likes having something or someone to take care of, to protect and to cherish. May it be animals, or babies, or random people you pick up from the side of the road—

Jaehwan feels a small pinprick of childish jealousy somewhere in his chest.

 “Why do we still have him around again?” Jaehwan adds in complaint, his voice low so as not to be overheard by Wonsik, even if he’s still too busy sleeping in the other room, laid out on a futon Taekwoon had dug up from somewhere.

 He doesn’t hate Wonsik, per say, but men have feelings too, and men don’t like it when their best friends are being inexplicably stolen from them.

Taekwoon just looks at him and shrugs.

 Needless to say, Jaehwan grumbles all the way to campus, muttering under his breath and rolling his eyes and pointedly ignoring Taekwoon. He sulks for the rest of the day and stubbornly clings onto his pride. A few times he approaches him, but then once he opens his mouth he seems to remember that he’s supposed to be kind of mad right now and shuts up.

 (Taekwoon just rolls his eyes at all of this.)

 The rest of the day goes by slowly. First period, he doesn’t talk to Taekwoon. All the way until lunch, he’s stubborn about his silent treatment, even though there’s words filling his lungs and flooding up all the way to the back of his throat. He can do this. He perseveres three periods of total silence: no secret text messages, no passing of notes during their few shared classes. He’s doing so well. The ever-so-stoic Jung Taekwoon will be dethroned and his icy reputation will crumple, his legacy forever erased by Lee Jaehwan. The dam he’s built between his throat and his tongue will not break.

 The day somehow manages to pass, and before he knows it he’s done for the day, breathing in a deep, much-needed sigh of relief. But then he looks up and—

 Jaehwan can see him— Taekwoon— lingering right outside the classroom door, his books and folders pressed close to his chest, and he’s leaning slightly against the wall as he waits for Jaehwan to come out of his class. He’s not even trying to be subtle. Jaehwan’s tempted to send a scowl in his general direction but he decides on ignoring Taekwoon completely instead, dead set on arranging his books and notebooks. Or rather, just jamming them carelessly into his small knapsack and shifting them around so that they’ll look at least a little neat.

 He zips his bag shut, stands up straight, and walks outside with his shoulders tense and his posture stiff as a board. He will not speak. He will not even so much as acknowledge Taekwoon’s presence.

 But then he finds himself following behind Taekwoon anyway (and he’s sure Taekwoon’s smiling smugly to himself on the inside, the ass). Out of the school building they go; out of the campus, across the street, past a few more blocks. His feet know the steps even when he’s not looking to see where Taekwoon is going. He knows where they’ll end up. It’ll the cafe they go to every afternoon. There’s no other option.

 Then Taekwoon halts suddenly, walks over to a table for two just outside the coffee shop, and sits down. He leans as far back as he can, raising a leg to cross it over the other, pulling out a book to read ad ignoring Jaehwan completely.

 Jaehwan feels something akin to irritation. He takes a seat right in front of Taekwoon, staring at him intently. It’s either Taekwoon doesn’t notice or Taekwoon simply doesn’t care.

 “What?” Jaehwan snaps.

 Taekwoon sets the book down, raising his eyebrows, and anger bubbles up somewhere in the pit of Jaehwan’s stomach.

 “You lead me all the way here, just to ignore me—”

 “Did I tell you to follow?”

 “No, but—”

 Jaehwan groans, grabbing his hair and pulling, and Taekwoon cracks a smile.

 “—I’m sorry, okay?” Jaehwan mutters, his voice a little bit grudging, “I shouldn’t have—”

 He can see a small smile tug at the corners of Taekwoon’s lips, and Jaehwan feels a small sense of relief and pride, “Why are you apologizing, Jaehwan-ah?” he asks, chuckling slightly, “Now, tell me about your day?”

~

 Contrary to his previous claims, Jaehwan finds himself not losing himself at a party, victim to an inevitable hangover come morning. Instead he finds himself watching over Wonsik. Wonsik is behaving, like he usually is. He hasn’t spoken much in the week they’ve known each other. Scratch that, Jaehwan hasn’t heard his voice at all, not after the faint little “Wonsik,” or the quiet whimpers that keep both Jaehwan and Taekwoon up at night.

 Wonsik stares at Jaehwan when he enters the room to retrieve some notes and it makes chills travel up his spine. Jaehwan bites his lip and attempts to smile amiably at Wonsik, but the latter just keeps staring. He blinks soon enough though and does what Jaehwan could only assume is trying to smile.

 Jaehwan gives him an awkward thumbs up, the stretch of his lips feeling way too big on his face, “I’ll be back, uh— dinner will be in a few.” So he takes what he’d needed to take and slowly turns to leave the room. His fingers are already wrapped around the doorknob when he hears it.

 A faint whisper of, “...Taek..woon?”

 Jaehwan feels the familiar envy well up. He breathes in sharply, trying to keep his emotions in control.

 “Taekwoon is out doing an extra shift,” he says.

  _For you,_ he thinks.

 He closes the door behind him. Wonsik doesn’t say another word. Jaehwan sighs, slumping down on the couch, notes spread out across the coffee table before him.

 It’s not long before he feels his phone buzz.

 He reads the message and visibly frowns before quickly typing out a reply. He bites his lip. For some reason his heart is thundering. He feels really anxious for some reason, and he doesn’t like it. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his wildly beating heart and even his breathing.

 The sender replies to him. Jaehwan, with hands slightly pale and kind of clammy, responds back as quickly as he can. He wants to get this over with. It’s honestly starting to scare him.

 He feels the phone vibrate again, just one more time. He eyes it like it’s Satan’s spawn, yet reaches out for it anyway, unlocking the phone and reading the message against his better judgement, only to immediately throw it away, far away from him, as if it had burned. He raises his hand and puts his over his mouth. Its beating is an unsteady thumping against his chest.

 He tries to breathe, but it’s like his heart has lodged in his throat and is keeping air from passing through. With shaking hands, he picks it back up and replies one last time, before shutting the phone off and setting it aside, with the feeling that he’d made a mistake sinking its claws deep into hi skin.

 

.

.

.

 

  **[Unknown Number, 9:48 PM]**

**[Hello. Is this Lee Jaehwan?]**

**[Jaehwan, 9:48 PM]**

**[Umm? Who? Is? This???]**

**[Unknown Number, 9:49 PM]**

**[Oh, that’s not important.]**

**[You’ll find out soon, anyway.]**

**[I’d like to see you?]**

**[Tomorrow? At the cafe you always haunt.]**

**[Jaehwan, 9:51 PM]**

**[Who the fuck are you]**

**[I’m reporting you.]**

**[Unknown Number, 9:51]**

**[That wouldn’t be nice of you, then.]**

**[Also, out of curiosity]**

**[You wouldn’t happen to know a Lee Hongbin]**

**[Would you?]**

**[Jaehwan, 9:55 PM]**

**[I’m interested.]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm really, really, really, really sorry.
> 
> Aish ;-;
> 
> I didn't mean to make y'all wait that long gsvxuhsiosj ahhh
> 
> (Also- *holds out tin can* feedback pls?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaa late update (again) sdfghjk  
> also (belated) merry xmas/hanukkah/kwanzaa/whateveryoucelebrate and happy new year owo  
> it was a pretty crappy year and i hope that 2018 gets its shit together ;;;;  
> anyways im not v satisfied with this chapter but i do hope it's okay and worth the wait eheh ;;  
> and to all those comments that i haven't replied to i'm sorry and thank you sm for the support uwahhh <3  
> *sends hearts*

Tap. Tap. Tap.

 He sits in the corner, at a little round table for two, back straight despite leaning against the chair, one leg poised above the other. He has a pen in hand, held between two long, graceful fingers, and he's tapping it against the table like a sideways pendulum.

 Everything about him screams beauty and elegance and confidence. He's slender, his skin soft and tanned, his eyes sharp and alluring and his pretty lips twisted into a secretive little smile.

 He is waiting for something.

 His pen goes tap and tap and tap, as if counting the seconds that pass.

 The café is quiet tonight; not a lot of customers on a Saturday evening. Saturday nights are for clubs and restaurants and hotel rooms, not for hanging with someone in a little café near the most horrific place for a student: the local college.

 So, really, it's not surprising that he's sitting all by himself in the quaint coffee shop. There isn't any sound aside from the tapping of his pen against the wooden tabletop, or the faint blues music leaking from the cafe's speakers, or the shuffling of the employees' shoes on the tiled floor and their faint murmurs as they gossip.

 It is quiet tonight and he has been waiting. He has been waiting for quite a while now. (He checks his watch- twenty minutes.) To be frank, he's getting quite impatient, but he perseveres. He is certain that he will get what he is waiting for.

 Or rather, he will meet who he is waiting for.

 The music in the background fades into a newer song. A pop one. He vaguely recognizes it. Maybe he heard it as he was coming here. Maybe it was playing in the billboards or on every radio station. The song is catchy and it gets stuck in his head like a fly trapped in honey. It annoys him. He waits.

 The coffee he had ordered has long since cooled. He drinks from it every now and then, tiny sips so that he doesn't get kicked out of the place so soon.

 The cashier is glancing at him. He can see her from the corner of his eye. Maybe she thinks she is being subtle. He rolls his eyes at this. She isn't being very subtle at all.

 He takes another sip from his cold, bitter Americano. He finishes it. He waits.

 A waitress comes, asks him if he wants anything else, gives him that sweet smile that all waitresses seem to have: pretty and practiced and fake. He smiles back at her, just as pretty and just as practiced and just as fake, eyes narrowing into little crescents as his lips stretch politely.

 The tap, tap, tap ceases for a moment and he twirls the one around his index and middle fingers: a miniature baton.

 "I'd like a blueberry muffin please," he says as sweetly as he can, just so that she could finally just get off his back. "And a hot chocolate. Thank you."

 "So one order of a blueberry muffin and a hot chocolate for-" she pauses, looks up from jotting down on her notepad (he scoffs. Is she so incompetent that she'll forget those two simple orders?) to look at him questioningly.

 His patience thins.

 "Byeol," he says, his smile tightening.

 "So one order of a blueberry muffin and a hot chocolate for Byeol-ssi," she repeats- like a broken record, or perhaps a computer or a robot. 'Byeol' smiles, nods, keeps up the act and thankfully does not explode.

 Finally she turns her back and returns to the counter to relay this information to the waitress and the barista and to no doubt gossip as well. He closes his eyes and counts from one to ten while silently seething in the hopes of calming down. The tap, tap, tap returns, filling the small establishment.

 He waits again.

 Bells jingle.

 There's a customer.

 He looks at the door. Someone comes in- dark brown hair. Full, plush lips. A large nose and pointed ears. He's all wrapped up, scarf and jacket and earmuffs and beanie and all. Yes, this is who he's been waiting for. He smiles to himself.

 Lee Jaehwan notices him and walks right over, movement almost robotic, body stiff. He sits right in front of him, expression serious. He is unnerved. Lee Jaehwan should not be so serious. It is simply not like him.

 "Good evening," he starts lightly. Maybe it will clear the air. Jaehwan glares, clearly not in the mood for niceties. He's shaking.

 "Who the fuck are you," he says (he sounds like he's out of breath, like these words are stealing oxygen from his lungs, and Byeol decides that he's quite pitiful and sad.) "What do you want with me?"

 "Now, now, let's not be so harsh," Byeol says, perfectly calm on the outside. There's a storm brewing inside of him. There's a bomb waiting to go off. He smiles. The same waitress comes, sets Byeol's orders on the table, and Jaehwan stares at them in horror.

 "Blueberry muffins and hot chocolate," Byeol says, leaning toward and folding his hands over the table, "Favorites of yours, if I remember correctly."

 "Just who the fuck-"

 Byeol tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly, "Don't be so impatient, Jaehwan-ah. Good things come to those who wait," and Jaehwan glares at him. He only smiles sweetly.

 Tap.

 Tap.

 Tap.

 "Now, I want to propose a deal," he says with a Cheshire grin, full of malice and hidden agenda. "You just do as I say. Nothing big, I promise. Nothing dangerous or illegal. All perfectly safe. All perfectly okay."

 "I don't really trust you right now," Jaehwan scowls. Byeol only grins even wider.

 "Oh, but Jaehwany-" and Jaehwan's scowl only deepens at this, "You don't have to trust me. I don't need your trust," he laughs here, and Jaehwan feels sick. He feels terrified.

 "Because I know you're going to do it anyway," he whispers, before laughing again, louder this time, standing up and dropping an envelope and a wad of bills on the table.

 "Expect me to contact you soon," he says sinisterly, the tips of his fingers dragging on the curve of Jaehwan's chin before walking away, out of the café, elegant as a swan.

 And Jaehwan doesn't really know what compels him to open the small brown envelope, but when he does he immediately regrets it and has to double over, upper teeth sinking savagely into his lower lip, to keep himself from throwing up.

 On the table, scattered across the surface: photographs of a young boy bound to a wooden chair, head down, hair an unkempt mess. He's thin, so sickly, and it makes Jaehwan's insides churn.

 A single picture of the same boy looking straight at the camera with empty eyes- that don't look like eyes at all- and a blank expression, fringe falling over half of his face.

 Years have already passed but- he would recognize that boy anywhere.

 Jaehwan heaves himself up and spots a business card amongst the mess of photos that he refuses to look at. He picks it up with shaky hands.

_cha hakyeon, ph.d._

 Jaehwan purses his lips.

 Guess he has a name to put to that unknown number now.

 

 

 Taekwoon is worried about Wonshik.

 Wonshik has been living with them for around a week now and Taekwoon has gotten used to his company. Taekwoon's used to seeing Wonshik's sleeping form on the futon on the floor next to his bed (they should really get something more comfortable for him sometime soon), used to waking up to his small whimpers and soft sobbing in the middle of the night, no doubt the aftereffects of a nightmare. He's adjusted to having someone to take care of, having another mouth to feed.

 Taekwoon's always been fast to adapt.

 But he has never seen Wonshik like this in Taekwoon's short time of knowing him- not ever since that first afternoon they'd met. Taekwoon's chest throbs with some sort of heartache, and he wonders he has grown so attached to someone that he's only known for a week. Someone who doesn't speak, someone who barely communicates at all. Someone he knows nothing of.

 "Wonshik-ah?" Taekwoon asks, his sweet, soft voice coloring the room. Wonshik has just woken up, and he doesn't look good at all: there's sweat rolling down his forehead, his chest rises and falls unevenly, trying to get sufficient air into his lungs.

 Wonshik whips his head up to look at him. His eyes are wide. He looks terrified. He whimpers, folding his legs so his thighs would press against his chest and that he would be hugging his knees, pushing his back up against the wall.

 Taekwoon has a small urge to walk towards him and gather him in his arms, press Wonshik's head against his own chest, thread his fingers through Wonshik's coarse white hair.

 He looks broken.

 He looks so broken.

 "Wonshik-ah," Taekwoon repeats. He sees the haze in Wonshik's eyes clear slightly, as if he's watching Taekwoon through camera lens, his frame only now coming into focus.

 Wonshik's lips move slightly. No sound comes out. Tears start to well up in the corners of his eyes, gathering enough that a big fat drop would trail down his cheek all the way to his chin, before cascading down to the floor and crashing, shattering into a million tiny particles.

 Taekwoon walks over to him and flashes a small smile (rare), before lifting his hand to touch Wonshik's hair. He stops an inch before the snowy strands as of asking for permission. Wonshik doesn't do anything. Taekwoon decides to interpret that as approval.

 His carefully, gingerly maneuvers Wonshik so that he'll be laying down with his head on Taekwoon's lap, and he's a warm presence against his leg. Kind of heavy. Kind of comforting. Taekwoon asks him if he's comfortable. Naturally, Wonshik doesn't reply, but Taekwoon thinks he is.

 Taekwoon thinks that's good.

 "Are you hungry at all?" he asks. Wonshik looks up at him, his droopy-eyed gaze locked with Taekwoon's own. He doesn't say anything but Taekwoon resolves to make food for him anyway since he had slept the whole morning and missed breakfast.

 But staring straight into Wonshik's eyes like this makes his chest get that little heartache-throb again.

 He shouldn't be much younger than Taekwoon or Jaehwan but he seems like a child sometimes. Other times, when Taekwoon looks at him, it's like he carries horrors beyond his age and out of his world in his haunted eyes.

 Wonshik drifts off and eventually falls asleep. Taekwoon moves to shift him so that his head will be nested comfortably on a pillow.

 He goes out and scours the cabinet for something to eat. All he finds are more packets of instant noodles. He sighs and grabs two. They'll need to go grocery shopping soon. The three of them won't be able to survive on these.

 He starts heating up water.

 Waiting for the water to boil, he steps away from the stove and pulls out his phone to text Jaehwan. He tells him to buy dinner. Taekwoon's phone is shoved back into his pocket and two packets' worth of noodles is tossed into the pot.

 One minute passes.

 Taekwoon peeks inside the bedroom.

 Wonshik is still asleep. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, and that garners a sigh of relief from Taekwoon.

 Two minutes have passed.

 Taekwoon walks back to the kitchen, stopping by the fridge to get a can of coffee, half of which he drinks in one go. Wonshik hasn't woken up. Taekwoon kind of wishes he will, so that he won't feel bad about having to wake him up. He sets the coffee on a random table.

 Three minutes.

 Taekwoon turns the stove off, pours noodles into two separate bowls: one for him and one for Ravi, of course. His phone vibrates: a text from Jaehwan. A 'yes hyung!' and a mess of emojis and a whole lot of those squiggly dash things.

 Taekwoon doesn't feel the need to reply. He puts his phone back in his pocket and walks back to his bedroom (that he obviously now shares with Wonshik) with the noodles and a glass of water. He sets them down on the floor beside the futon and sits down next to Wonshik's sleeping form before gently shaking him awake. Wonshik opens his eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, and Taekwoon smiles down at him.

 “You looked kind of uncomfortable,” Taekwoon says, “Come on, sit up. Sleep on the bed.”

 Wonshik blinks, confused, but he doesn’t react negatively when Taekwoon tugs on his arm, coaxing him into standing up. He stands and sits on the bed on his own accord and Taekwoon plops down next to him, food tray on his lap.

 “You should eat. You haven’t eaten all day,” he tells Wonshik, helping him sit up and lean against the headboard. He picks up some noodles with the chopsticks, and Wonshik holds out his shaking hand so he can take the utensils and eat by himself.

 At first he’d needed to be fed but now, now he can do it by himself and it fills Taekwoon with a sense of pride.

 Taekwoon watches him eat, watches him put the tray down on the bedside table, watches him lie back down even though he really shouldn’t since he has just finished eating and his stomach is still full. Taekwoon moves to stand up so he can put the tray away, but he stops when he feels a hand enclosed around his wrist, pulling him back.

 “Don’t go,” Wonshik whispers. Taekwoon gives in and sits next to where Wonshik is lying on the bed.

 But then Wonshik tugs on his sleeve again and makes Taekwoon lie down beside him, facing each other. Wonshik cracks a smile and Taekwoon feels all warm inside.

 “Just a bit,” Taekwoon tells him. He’ll just be here for a little while. Wonshik doesn’t stop smiling (and it’s a relief to see him smile, it really is, and Taekwoon finds that Wonshik has a really pretty smile.) Pretty soon Wonshik’s naturally droopy eyes are fluttering shut, falling asleep once again.

 “You are an enigma,” Taekwoon whispers as he watches Wonshik drift into a hopefully peaceful slumber. He moves to brush a bit of Wonshik’s snowy hair out of his eyes. “Will you ever open up to me?”

 Wonshik doesn’t answer; he’s fast asleep.

 Somewhere along the line, Taekwoon falls asleep, too.

 

 It’s warm when Taekwoon wakes up.

 There’s something behind him. Ah— Wonshik, snuggled up against his back, face pressed against Taekwoon’s shoulder, an arm draped on his waist. Taekwoon blinks and the room slowly comes into focus.

 It’s already dark out, as indicated by the darkness outside the window. What time is it? He stands up, gently prying Wonshik off of him, and takes his phone from where it’s lying on the bedside table beside the bowl and glass and tray.

 It’s half past eight. The house is eerily quiet. Jaehwan hasn’t gone home yet?

 Taekwoon can only frown. Why wouldn’t Jaehwan be home? He stands up and goes outside, leaving the light on because Wonshik is scared of the dark.

 He waits in the living room, watching a reality program on TV, not really paying attention. It’s muted, anyway. His eyes just need a distraction so that they would stop glancing at his phone or at the door every five seconds.

 Thirty minutes pass.

 Taekwoon is worried about Jaehwan. Jaehwan won’t answer the calls Taekwoon leaver every five minutes. He doesn’t text to tell Taekwoon where he is. He doesn’t reply to the terrified and worried messages Taekwoon spams him with.

 It’s late at night. Taekwoon is growing uneasy. He doesn’t even know what’s going on in this show he’s watching anymore. He doesn’t really care.

 He’s playing with his fingers, hands on his lap, when the door to his and Jaehwan’s dorm creaks open and lo and behold—! Jaehwan walks in, appearance haggard— his hair is messy and his eyes are raw and his cheeks are flushed and stained— and Taekwoon immediately stands.

 “Where were you?” he asks, unable to keep the angry concern from showing in his voice. Jaehwan chuckles sheepishly, dropping the two take-out bags that he’d brought home.

 “Sorry I worried you, hyung,” he says with his same wide smile, picking the plastic bags back up and placing them on top of the dining table. Three boxes of a take-out chicken meal. He and Taekwoon could start eating first. Wonshik is still asleep. They’ll put his food in the fridge in the meantime.

 “Are you feeling okay?” Taekwoon asks worriedly.

 “I’m fine, hyung, don’t sweat it,” Jaehwan says over a wide smile and a mouthful of rice and chicken, “Yah! Finish your food, that’s my precious money!”

 Taekwoon quickly goes back to his meal. He can’t help but glance up every so often, though.

 There’s something very off with Jaehwan’s smile today.

**Author's Note:**

> Woot woot Wontaek for the comeback ayyyy.
> 
> If you'd somehow gotten this far despite my terrible writing then thank you~!
> 
> Penny for your thoughts?
> 
> Andadollarforyourinsights.
> 
> That's the same song I got the title from whoops.


End file.
